


Beautifully Broken

by Marrilyn



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avenger Loki, Bruises, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotions, F/M, Feelings, Feels, Flogging, Healing, Hurt Loki, Hurt/Comfort, I Have A Torture Fetish, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki Gets a Hug, Loki Has Issues, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki Whump, Loki is Not Amused, Loki-centric, Mental Anguish, POV Second Person, Pain, Past Torture, Poor Loki, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rescue, Serious Injuries, Suffering, Torture, Torturing Loki Turns Me On, Trauma, Triggers, Whipping, Whump, sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8331088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Loki is a mess after having been rescued from Thanos' torture, and you take it upon yourself to comfort him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr.  
> http://imagine-loki.tumblr.com/post/152047753548/beautifully-broken

After days of ruthless fighting, the monster was finally dead. Things were starting to get back to normal; realms had begun to rebuild themselves, their shattered essence slowly knitting itself back together now that their biggest threat had been eliminated.

But the one he had hurt the most had been far from normalcy.

His recovery had only just begun, and a feeling inside of you, the one that had never been wrong in the entirety of your life, had told you that it would take time for him to fully heal.

If he ever does.

Loki was strong; that much was clear. But what he had endured at the hands of that monster would have broken the toughest of souls. It was a miracle that he was still alive after the torturous ordeal he’d gone through.

You knocked softly before entering the room, to alert him of your arrival. Sudden noises frightened him, and you learned that he remained calm after hearing your soft knock before you walked through the door.

You were careful not to make any quick, sudden movements that would startle him, instead opting for gentle steps. The room was dark, one lone afternoon sun’s ray peeking through a crack at the curtain’s corner. The air was chilly, almost cold; it smelled of snow, of icy meadows in the harshest of winters.

In the middle sat Loki, still, motionless, like a long abandoned doll. The hardwood floor didn’t appear to bother the injuries on his legs, and neither did the cold, concrete wall the ones, much more serious ones, on his back.

He stared straight ahead into empty space, completely lost to the outside world, floating away in the painful prison of his broken mind. His chest heaved slightly, the only sign that he was still alive, for were it not for the gentle ups and downs of his bandage-covered chest, you would have thought he’d passed.

The most of his body was wrapped in bandages; his neck, feet, legs, arms, chest, and back all coated in white stripes of soft cloth, protecting the injuries inflicted upon him by the monster you had taken personal pleasure in helping eradicate.

A stray bruise here and there glistened on the pale, wounded skin. You’d found that he healed incredibly fast. Just a few days ago you could barely stop the bleeding, and now the wounds have been completely dry, some even closed, ready for the final stages of regeneration.

If only his mind had been that lucky.

“Hey, Loki, ” you said softly, giving him a warm, loving smile you always gifted him with. You took a step closer and, taking his lack of flinching at your presence as a sign of approval, sat down next to him.

A small sideways glance was your only clue that he had acknowledged your presence. Your smile widened at the small gesture. It was more than you usually got. He’d say a few words here and there, but he mostly kept quiet, staring at the opposite wall as though he’d expected it to talk.

“I just came to see if you’re okay,” you said. “Everyone’s really worried.”

“Are they?”

His voice was cold, emotionless, sarcasm dripping from his words like icy venom. It was almost as if he doubted the truth of your words, expecting it to be just another trick to get him to talk, to open up, something he really didn’t want to. Not yet, when everything was still fresh; when wounds still stung and his mind ached as painful memories surged through like shocks of high-voltage electricity.

“They are,” you replied, your smile fading.

You didn’t know much about what had happened after Thanos had taken him. You knew the motive was revenge for betraying him, and you’d seen the aftermath; the whip marks and razor gashes were kind of hard to miss. It was easy to guess just what transpired in the physical sense. The room you’d found him in was quite obviously a torture room, full of instruments and toys you really didn’t want to know the use for.

The mental torture, however, had remained a mystery. Thanos had obviously filled his head with something. Physical pain, while severe, would not have had such an effect on Loki. He’d been through plenty of torment before and had grown somewhat accustomed to pain.

A part of you didn’t want to know just what that monster had been telling him, what he’d convinced him of, but this other, more rational part told you that it would be important to know.

If you had even the inkling of what happened, you might have been able to help him recover.

Loki wasn’t an easy person to break. Whatever Thanos had made him believe had clearly affected him, and the consequences would take months, maybe even years to heal. You dreaded even the thought of the longtime process.

You wanted your Loki back; your sweet, witty Loki; Loki who loved to have fun and break rules, who taught you to love him and allowed himself to love you. You wanted him back right now, for what you were looking at wasn’t him. Not anymore.

He was in there, buried deep underneath thick layers of hurt and torment, waiting for the sweet release, but it would take time to get to him. It would take time to break through that shell and get him to open up.

You didn’t mind waiting an eternity for him, but you couldn’t deny it would give both him and you comfort if he’d lower his protective walls for just a bit, to let you take a small peek and help ward away the darkness that ate away at his fragile soul.

“They can’t wait to see you.”

He almost snorted; almost, for you could see his lips’ slight pucker that dissipated at the very last second, preserving the calmness of his expression.

“We all care about you,” you told him.

Though no confirmation had ever been made, you’d had a guess about what Thanos might have said, and you wanted to assure him that those were all lies spat to break him, to break his spirit and heart and mind.

Thanos had wanted a toy, and he’d enjoyed playing with the one he’d caught. It was only natural that a sadist such as him would make sure that the toy was his and his only. Everyone else had to perish. The toy had to be alone, with no one by its side, depending solely on his mercy.

You wanted Loki to know that you were still here, that you weren’t going to give up on him so easily. His home life might not have been perfect, but here he had people who cared about him. He had friends, his new, loving little family who’d risked their lives to rescue him.

He had you, who loved him more than everything, who would gladly sacrifice her life for the sake of his.

“Lies,” Loki whispered, his voice raspy, still as cold as the Russian winter.

“No,” you countered. “They’re not. We love you. _I_ love you.”

“How could one love a monster?”

You swallowed a thick lump that formed in your throat. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you took a breath to steady yourself, to calm your mind that was storming into overdrive.

“You are not a monster,” you said.

“Oh, but I am.”

“Don’t you dare say that.”

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. For a small moment, you panicked, remembering all the times he’d thrown a fit over an accidental touch, but calmed at his lack of reaction, a small, but notable sign of acceptance. Acceptance of you, of your touch. Acceptance of your comfort.

As much as Thanos had convinced him he was better off alone, Loki still craved company. That part of him would never go away.

Physical contact was usually off limits – he’d allow a small hug or a peck on the cheek, but anything longer than a few seconds, and anything a tiny bit rougher than usual was a definite no.

The Avengers had tried to approach him, but not one of them was even allowed near him lest they wished to risk a freak-out. Even Thor, his own brother, had had to, much to his own dismay, stay away.

The only one he’d let approach him was you.

And now he let you hold his hand tightly, and you couldn’t have been in greater joy.

You’ve made some mistakes along the way, as you learned your way around him. With time you’ve grown familiar with his triggers, and had done your best to avoid upsetting him.

Holding hands and hugging was okay, but your hands weren’t allowed anywhere below his waist.

Kisses were fine, but, like touches, only his lips and face, maybe hands, were approved.

There had been a shampoo fragrance that reminded him of Thanos’ natural scent, so you started using the vanilla one, for the one before that resulted in fits that you’d rather erase from your memory.

Loki’s eyes, framed with redness and full of tears, found yours, in them an evident hunger – hunger for comfort only you could provide. Perhaps he was ready to open up, to let you in. You wanted nothing more than help him go back to being the man he used to be.

You knew the thought was silly. He would never be the same, not after what had happened, but there was still a chance for him to be himself again. He could learn to live with his grief, learn to beat the pain and move on from the tragedy that had struck him.

“Don’t ever think you’re a monster,” you told him, bringing his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to his fingers. Your movements were slow, careful as to not disturb his bruised, purple-coated wrists. “I love you just the way you are. I always have. I’ve never, not once, thought you a monster.”

“Then you are a fool,” he said.

Normally, this kind of talk would upset you, but you knew he was only trying to rile you up. He knew you didn’t hate him, couldn’t hate him, so he wanted to make you. It was the only way he could make sense of the conflicted thoughts that raged through his shattered mind.

“Jotuns are nothing but savage beasts,” he stated coolly, as though his harsh words were a fact. “I could rip your head off your shoulders right now and think nothing of it. I could tear your heart out and push it down your throat, and bathe in the remains of your filthy blood.”

As much as you understood the reasons he was saying those things, he was starting to creep you out. “Stop it, Loki,” you pleaded, hoping to reason with him.

“I could tear you limb from limb and watch as you take your last breath, and, as much as you’d beg, I wouldn’t stop, not until your soul had departed for Helheim.”

You swallowed. How could he say such things? Did he honestly believe that you would hate him if he were to spew a bunch of lies – painful and terrifying lies, but lies nonetheless? “You’re scaring me.”

“You should be scared,” he spat. “Hanging around a monster. Pretending to love it. You are but a prey offering itself to a predator.”

“I know what you’re doing, and I’m not falling for it,” you told him firmly. “You can scare me all you want, but you won’t scare me _away._ I’m not giving up on you. Thanos may have told you you’re a monster, but remember that it was him who did that – all of that – to you. He’s the monster in this story, Loki. Not you.”

The mention of Thanos’ name made him stiffen, but he was quick to regain his composure.

“I know you don’t want to hurt me. You say you do, but I know you don’t. You’ve protected me too many times to just throw it all away.”

You allowed a sweet, loving smile to spread over your mouth.

“I wish I could return the favour. I’m sorry for not finding you sooner. I know that if it was me who was taken, you would have come for me right away. I was late, and I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I wish I could turn the time back and do things differently. Maybe then he wouldn’t have hurt you so.”

Tears fell down your cheeks, and this time, you didn’t bother trying to hold them back. Loki’s own spilt; he just stared at you, his eyes full of pain, full of sadness that had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, and had only now, magnified by recent events, gathered the courage to show itself to the world.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he said quietly, his right hand clasping yours, the one that was holding his left one.

“I have. I really have,” you sobbed. “I couldn’t save you. I tried so hard, but he still hurt you, and I could do nothing to stop it.”

“You’ve come for me.” It was a statement. Simple, curt, straight to the point. His eyes never leaving yours, he continued: “You’ve freed me. You’ve tended to my wounds. It is me who should apologise. I was selfish, wallowing in my own pity. Pathetic! Odin should have left me to die. Then I would have never lived to be a coward.”

“No! Don’t even think that!” you said firmly, wiping away your tears. “You’re not a coward. You have every right to deal with your pain any way you want. It doesn’t make you weak or pathetic. It’s normal. No one thinks any less of you for hurting. Don’t ever forget that. You’re the strongest man I know. You will get through this. I’m sure of it. You just have to give it time.”

You put your other hand atop his, pressing lightly onto his soft skin.

“No matter what he had you believe, you matter. You’re worth saving. And, if you want, I will be here every step of the way. But only if you let me. I won’t pressure you into anything. Whatever happens is on you. It’s your decision.”

“I have a choice?”

He seemed honestly surprised by that, as though the thought of making decisions regarding himself, his own mental health, had been foreign to him.

“You do,” you confirmed. “He might have taken it from you there, but here you’re the one in control. All the choices are yours. I can either stay or go. It’s your call. Whatever you decide, I won’t be mad. I swear. Just say the word and I will obey.”

He seemed to contemplate it. His lips parted for a moment, mouthing a word, but no sound ever left his mouth. He just stared, at a loss of words, his head lowering in silent defeat.

“Stay,” he finally said, scared to look you in the eye. “Please.”

Did he think you would abandon him if he was to show weakness? Did he think that you would leave at such a display of emotion, of humanity that you knew he possessed despite claiming otherwise? Did he believe you would stoop so low as to push him away now, after days of trying to get through to him?

Anger squeezed at your heart, morphing into rage that spread through your veins like deadly poison. How dare that monster hurt him like that? How dare he have him believe that no one loved him, that no one wanted him around, that the only thing he was deserving of was torturous solitude?

You weren’t going to let that bastard win. He was dead; his grip on Loki’s fragile soul would not last. That you promised. You would free your beloved from the shackles of pain. You would get him back from that awful place the monster had locked him in and thrown away the key.

You would save his soul if it was the last thing you did.

“I’ll stay,” you promised. “I’ll always stay.”

You hand gently cupped his cheek, turning it up so you could, once again, look him in the eyes. Tears spilt down his cheeks in fast, salty streams, leaving wet, reddened trails atop his skin. A tiny, fading bruise glistened on his chin, its green and yellow mixtures contrasting his natural paleness.

God, he was beautiful. Even now, so broken and tortured, he was the most magnificent creature you had ever laid your eyes on. The blue in his eyes was mesmerising; it reminded you of winter skies full of dancing snowflakes, the tears in them making them look almost crystal-like, like elegant, priceless gems. His inky hair was messy, unlike the usual slicked-back look, wavy at the edges, but still gorgeous. It circled his face perfectly, like a well-made frame protecting the most beautiful picture.

Thanos may have harmed him, but his beauty, both the outer and inner one, could never be tarnished.

“It’s okay. You have nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing wrong with asking for help.”

He looked at you, and your heart broke at the helplessness radiating from his terrified eyes.

“He said that you don’t love me,” he uttered. You could tell it broke him to say those words, to speak them to your face as if they were fact rather than ruthless lies fed to him by the monster that tore his soul to pieces. “That that was why you hadn’t come for me.”

You choked back a sob.

“You know that’s not true. I told you, I didn’t know where you were. I looked everywhere, but you were nowhere to be found and…”

You swallowed.

“I never stopped searching. I never lost hope that I would find you. I knew I had little time, but I wasted none of it. I wish I’d arrived sooner, but I couldn’t.”

Your eyes watered once again, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I should have tried harder. But I did try. You know I did. Don’t ever think that I don’t love you. He only told you that to isolate you. He manipulated you so you would depend on him. I don’t know exactly what went on, but I can assure you that none of his words were true. He was a liar and a sadist. He wanted to hurt you, and whatever he said was meant to do just that.”

“I didn’t put up much of a fight.”

“He didn’t give you much of a choice.”

“I should have fought harder,” he insisted, more to himself than to you, as if the words would somehow ring truer if he was to repeat them out loud. “I should have resisted.”

“He would have killed you.”

He ignored your reasoning.

“I shouldn’t have been so weak.”

“Loki…”

You sighed. His damage was deep, and you weren’t qualified for these sorts of things. Still, you had to try; he would never let anyone approach him the way he let you, especially not some stranger. Bringing an actual psychiatrist was out of the question. The only one left for this task were you, and you dreaded the outcome.

What if you accidentally hurt him? What if you say or do something wrong, and he goes back to the lone prison of his mind, scared, alone, and helpless, so very helpless?

You wanted to help him. You wanted it more than anything, but how do you mend what has been broken so many times that it was on the verge of dissipating into millions of pieces?

“You aren’t weak,” you said softly, opting for the approach you were accustomed to.

Whenever he had a problem, you always assured him of his strengths, always cared to point them out. Perhaps, if you kept it on, he would break free from his gilded cage.

“You’re strong and incredibly brave. No one could go what you went through and come out alive. But you did. You survived. You proved you’re better than him.”

You leant in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“You’ve come so far, so, please, don’t let him bring you down. What happened, happened. You can’t erase that. But you can move on. You can heal and put it all behind you, but you have to fight. If you want to change, you have to try. It won’t happen on its own”

He stared at you for a while, contemplating what to do next. Should he give up? Should he accept the fact that he was a lost cause, a worthless traitor like Thanos had made sure to sear into his mind? Should he surrender, like the Jotun runt he was, left alone to die in the bitter cold?

Or should he fight, like you had suggested? Should he indulge you?

He knew you would never lie to him. There were moments when he’d wonder; moments of doubt, of weakness that Thanos had instilled in him with hours upon hours of torture, but those would be gone just as soon as they’d appear.

You would never dare have him believe something that wasn’t true. If you’d said something, anything, you meant it. Loki wasn’t in the right state of mind, but he could recognise that much. You would never purposely harm him, not after everything you’d done for him. Not after you’d spent hours cleaning his wounds and tending to his every need, making sure he was comfortable in his own skin again – or as comfortable as he could have been, considering the terrible state he was in.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper: “I would like that. I would like to get better.”

Smiling, you gave him another tender kiss. “I’m proud of you,” you said, beaming. “So proud.”

He allowed himself his own small smile, barely visible, but still there. It lasted only a moment, but you relished the fact that he’d decided to try, to fight for himself the way he used to. “How do I start?”

“Talk to me,” you replied. “Tell me what happened. Tell me what he did to you, what he said to you. Tell me everything. Don’t hold anything back.”

He stared, his eyes confused, startled.

“If you don’t want to, it’s okay,” you quickly said, regretting your last sentence. “If there are things you don’t wish to discuss, that’s alright. This is your turf. You mind – your rules. You’re allowed to say whatever you want, however much of it you want. I’m only here to listen. Whatever you tell me, I won’t think any less of you for it. This is a judgment-free zone. You’re in control here. I hear what you want me to hear. Nothing more and nothing less.”

He gave a slight nod of understanding.

And then he’d told it all.

And the only thing you could do was stare frozen in shock, your insides churning at the monstrosities he’d endured under Thanos’ cruel hand.

At times he’d stop, seeking comfort in your eyes, and continue when you’d prompt him to, promising no judgment for what he’d said and for what he was to reveal next.

By the time he was finished, he was sobbing in your arms like an inconsolable child. You held him tightly, taking care not to press against the gashes tattering his back. Though wounds had long stopped bleeding, they were still sore and open underneath layers of bandages, and there was no need to cause him any unnecessary pain. Not now that you knew what exactly he went through.

You knew most of the injuries had to have been inflicted by some sort of a whip; never, in your darkest dreams, could you have imagined that Thanos would have struck him with a cat o’ nine tails, thin like wire and as sharp as a razor, times nine, ripping skin apart with ease.

He’d give him a few hours to recover before striking him again, and again, and again, relishing the fact that the body of a god could take torture like no mortal one ever could. Loki had suffered greatly, but he couldn’t die, not from that, however, grave it was, and Thanos found pleasure in having such a toy at his disposal. To do whatever he wanted to him, to play with his prey like the sadistic predator he was, knowing that his victim would cling to life despite the graveness of his injuries.

Loki told you every single thing, every detail that was still fresh in his mind.

How the first thing Thanos had done had been to put a magic-suppressing collar around his neck, its metallic spikes burying themselves deep into his skin.

How, after his numerous attempts to get away, the bastard had taken the whip to the soles of his feet to render him unable to walk, forcing him to crawl like a wounded animal to the amusement of the gathered Chitauri crowd.

How he’d force himself onto him, time after time, and have the Chitauri hold him down while he helplessly pushed and shoved and begged for the torment to end.

How he’d beg for the sweet release of death, only to be laughed in the face, his words spat back at him like a perfect weapon in the horrifying ordeal of manipulation.

How that monster would tell him, over and over again, that the Avengers despised him. That you hated him. That his worth was only an illusion cast upon him to fool him into thinking he was something when in actuality he was nothing but a lowly Jotun runt deserving of pain. That he was weak and undeserving of love, undeserving of happiness and peace. That no one had come for him after days of being imprisoned because you had all finally gotten rid of him and had no intentions of bringing back a burden such as himself.

And in the end, it was you who had to pick up the pieces. You who had to tend to his injuries. You who had to bandage him up, slowly, carefully, for he’d let nobody but you get close to him.

Bruce had to give you an hour-long lecture on how to properly clean wounds and wrap them up. You’d had to learn fast, and you’d worked hard to be perfect. You’d have hated yourself had you accidentally harmed him. You’ve made some mistakes along the way, but Loki was understanding. He didn’t think badly of you for messing up; a stray flinch of twitch would escape him, but that had been it. He knew you were only there to help.

It was you who had to heal not only his physical scars but his mental ones as well.

And all that because of one man’s – no, you told yourself. Not man. A monster. A filthy, deranged monster – thirst for vengeance. Because how dare Loki betray him, after he’d been promised torture if he was to fail an impossible task? How dare he not fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness after experiencing first hand, for a year, no less, what kind of a sadist he’d been dealing with?

“It’s okay,” you whispered tenderly, your voice soft, soothing. You lowered your head atop his, his soft, silky hair a gentle, comfortable pillow to your chin. “He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe. I promise you, I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

“How can you stand the presence of a coward?” he whimpered like a wounded puppy.

“I already told you – you’re not a coward. Listen to me, Loki. The only one to blame here is Thanos, and he’s dead, and he will never lay a hand on you again. And even if he is to somehow come back, I won’t let him near you. You’re safe here, with me, with the rest of the Avengers. We have your back. If anyone ever tries to hurt you again, they will have to go through us.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“I could never hate you, sweetheart,” you told him kindly. “Especially not now. You’ve done nothing wrong. There is no reason for anyone to hate you. What happened was out of your control. Thanos and the Chitauri… they were the ones who wronged you, not the other way around. So, please, don’t hate yourself. Don’t push us away. We all love you, and we all want to help you. What that monster told you were lies.”

“You don’t understand.” He raised his head, his teary eyes locking with yours. “I… I can’t give you what you want anymore.”

You frowned, confusing creeping onto your tear-struck face. “What…?”

Then it dawned on you.

A huge lump formed in your throat and you swallowed, hard, pushing back the anguish that rushed through your veins, crushing your fast-beating heart in its deadly grip.

“You think I want sex?”

He lowered his head, flinching momentarily as if expecting to be struck for even alluding to such a thing. You cupped his cheek gently, tenderly, allowing him to ease into your touch, to see that you posed no threat.

“I don’t give a damn about sex. I love you, Loki. I love _you._ You are a beautiful person. No one has ever treated me the way you do. You’ve done more for me than anyone else. For all I care, we don’t ever have to have sex again. I just want _you.”_

“But I am filthy,” he tried. “I have bedded another. I have broken your trust.”

“No.” You shook your head furiously. “No, Loki, you haven’t. Not of your own free will. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t hold that against you.”

He took a small breath. “You forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive, sweetheart.” You gave his cheek a loving caress. “You’ve done nothing bad. Don’t even think I blame you for anything.”

“I don’t repulse you?”

“Never.”

“Even though someone else had had me?”

“He never had you,” you said firmly. “Never. You hear me? He took you, he used you, he abused you, but he never had you. You were never his. He never owned you. He never owned your body or your soul. He never held any right over you. He thought he did. He might have told you he did. But in reality, you were never his.”

Your free hand found his and squeezed it, a small gesture of comfort.

“None of this changes the way I feel about you.”

He leant forward, his forehead connecting with yours. Closing his eyes, he breathed in; breathed in your scent, your essence, you. Relaxing against your touch, he swallowed, allowing himself to get close to you, to feel you just as you felt him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his words soft, gentle, straight from his aching heart. “For not giving up on me.”

“Anytime.”


End file.
